


Reconnections

by eleanor_lavish, thepsychicclam



Series: Valiant Effort [28]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-18
Updated: 2009-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy makes a call, Dom gets a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnections

**Author's Note:**

> Written by EL.

Billy woke in the morning to the feeling of warm sun on his face. His whole body felt wonderfully heavy and he lay still for a long moment, not really wanting to move. He’d been dreaming of Orlando, dancing with him, long arms draped around Billy’s neck and pulling him close, Billy’s fingers hooked possessively in the belt loops of Orlando’s jeans. The dream had been especially lovely because it was barely a dream at all. More like a sense memory of the night before, when Billy had succeeded in getting Orlando as shitfaced as humanly possible in honor of his dearly departed bastard of a father. Unfortunately, this had meant matching Orlando shot for shot at the club, and Billy’s judgment regarding Orlando was never at it’s best when he was piss drunk. As he lay there, Billy hoped the dancing hadn’t been going a bit too far in the “cheer Orlando up” department.

But it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.

Billy let out a small sigh and stretched his arms over his head. Or arm. Because his left arm was firmly pinned beneath a warm heavy object. _Oh. Fuck._ He didn’t dare open his eyes. There was no way in hell he could have been _that_ drunk. That would have been going WAY too far. He wanted to, God knows. But dancing with Orlando and fucking Orlando were two very different activities. Less so the way Orli danced, but still. Also, there was no possible way he could have slept with Orlando and not remembered it. The god Billy believed in was not that cruel. _Fucking hell._

He gave an experimental tug at his arm and was greeted with a very American “Quit it, you asshole.” Billy’s eyes flew open and he sat up so fast the whole room spun.

“Elijah?!”

Elijah, it seemed, had no issues waking up next to Billy. In fact, after flipping Billy off, he unceremoniously rolled over and buried his head back under the covers.

“Elijah?” Billy asked quietly, poking at the blanket. He asked the only question his mind could settle on. “Where’s Orlando?”

“Dom.” Elijah’s reply was muffled by the pillow, his voice hoarse from a night of smoking too much.

“Orlando’s with Dom.” Billy made a vow never to drink that much ever again. Nothing was making any sense at all.

Elijah rolled over, huffing in annoyance. “You made us switch, remember? When we got in last night, you said ‘Orli’s with Dom, I claim Lijah’. Sometimes I really fucking hate you. It’s not like there aren’t a billion bedrooms in this place anyway. We each could have had our own room.”

Screw not drinking! Billy’s common sense was clearly _better_ after half a bottle of tequila. “Yeah, like Dom wouldn’t have snuck into your room as soon as my door was closed. He was all over you last night.” Billy climbed out of bed and begun hunting under it for his shirt.

“Hence my hatred of you,” replied Elijah, who had given up all hope of sleep and was glaring at Billy, his arms crossed over his chest. “Not like you and Orli were any better.”

“Yes, love. But Orlando and I,” he grunted as he reached for an errant sock, “have what is known as ‘self-control’.”

“Ooooh. You mean you’re frigid.”

It was Billy’s turn to glare. “Elwood.”

“William.”

“Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Fine. You are the grumpiest person in the world in the morning.” Elijah kicked off the blankets like a six year old and padded toward the door. Billy was grateful too see he was still almost fully dressed, as there are bad ideas and really bad ideas, and anything involving a naked Elijah would qualify as the latter. “You know what would really help with that? Getting laid!”

“OUT!” Elijah narrowly avoided getting hit with Billy’s shoe, the door slamming shut on Elijah’s laughter.

Billy flopped onto the bed, his body still heavy from alcohol. _Sometimes, the kid hits just a little close to home…_

 

*

 

Dom had awoken to the strange sensation of someone whacking him repeatedly in the shoulder. He came to with Orlando’s voice ringing in his ears, repeating “I am not Elijah you pervert! Stop touching my ass!”

They had laughed themselves silly for five minutes.

Dom had to admit, he missed Orlando’s laugh. He missed Orlando’s everything, really. As they stumbled downstairs to the kitchen for cereal, he wondered how he had managed to almost lose his best friend. Orlando had been through hell the last year—with Billy, with that motherfucker Bean-- doing things that Dom _knew_ he would never have gotten into had Dom been there to catch him. But somewhere along the line, Dom had let him fall.

 

Orlando was quiet again in the kitchen; he’d been quiet since their arrival in Canterbury two days before. Dom watched him sip his tea and tuck his hair behind his ear.

“Hey. Your hair’s getting really long.” Dom reached across the counter they were leaning on and pulled gently on an errant curl.

Orlando smiled around his cup. “Yeah. Ma says I should get a haircut today.” His shoulders slumped slightly. “Father would fucking hate my hair like this.”

“All the more reason to keep it. Show the old man you’re still a rock star, mate.”

“Mmmm.” He put his half-eaten bowl in the sink and picked up a pear from one of the many “Our Condolences” fruit baskets stacked on the sideboard. “It would show him, yeah? If we all showed up in dapper suits with our long hair? Then we can all roll up our sleeves for the wake and pass crudités and smile at all the financiers. I think the Reverend Marshall would get a kick out of Billy’s tattoos.”

Dom laughed and began peeling himself an orange, inwardly scrambling to tally up the clothes he’d brought along. He was horrified to realize that absolutely nothing was appropriate for a wake. Nothing but jeans and band t-shirts. And he didn’t have Billy’s closet to raid, like at home. _Damn it._

He considered asking Orlando if he had any spares around—he knew how to sew well enough to bring up the cuffs—but he felt like enough of a git having forgotten in the first place.

Orlando broke his train of thought by grabbing his hand and dragging him down a short hall and into a large, dark room. It was like something out of a Dickens novel. Heavy leather chairs were placed around a massive fireplace, while an ornate mahogany desk sat in front of a large window draped in dark muslin curtains. And there were books. Hundreds if not thousands of books lined the walls and the whole room smelled of leather and parchment and words and history.

“What…” Dom could barely think.

Orlando stood behind him and put his arms around Dom’s neck. “Like it? It was my father’s private library.” He rested his chin on Dom’s shoulder. The last time he’d done that, they’d been drunk at one of Viggo’s shows in the Village and Dom had just said something inanely stupid like _You, Orlando Bloom, are the Shaggy to my Scooby Doo!._ Dom smiled at the memory.

Since ‘I miss you, Shaggy’ seemed like a ridiculous thing to say, he settled for, “It’s the most fucking awesome room I’ve ever seen.”

He could feel Orlando grin against his neck and grinned back in reply. Orlando let go and walked around him, leaning against the back of a brown suede sofa that was worn thin with age. “Father never read most of these, of course. They were mainly for show. To prove he was an intellectual.” He reached out and brushed a fine layer of dust off of the bookshelf in front of him. “Before I met you, it never really occurred to me what a waste this room was.”

Dom perused the titles. Mr. Bloom might have collected for show, but he was damn good at it. While most were of the “old and dusty” variety, there was an impressive Shakespeare collection, as well as an entire section devoted to Romantic poets.

“Hey!” Dom jerked his head up to see Orlando smiling fondly. “Don’t get lost yet—I haven’t even shown you the best part.” Dom watched Orlando pull a small key from the bottom desk drawer and followed him to the corner of the room where he unlocked an antique cabinet with glass doors. “The last time I dared open this thing, I was grounded for a month.” Orlando pulled a small brown book carefully off the shelf and handed it to Dom.

It was Milton, as familiar to Dom as any of the books on these shelves. But as he opened the front cover... “Jesus, Orli. It’s a first edition.”

“They all are. If my father was going to collect something, he was going to collect the best.”

Dom stared at the book in his hands and back at the open cabinet in awe. It was as though someone had handed him the keys to the fucking kingdom. He was torn between an unbelievable need to pick up every book on the shelf and the thought that his hands couldn’t possibly be clean enough for this. He’d just eaten an orange, for Christ’s sake. He settled for leaning in until he was inches from the spines. _Dunne. Wordsworth. Fucking Dostoyevsky in Russian!_ “Shit. There’s no rhyme or reason to this, mate. Novelists, liturgists, philosophers, poets, fucking Marx! It’s like the fucking modern library of fucking Alexandria and it’s in your motherfucking _house_!”

“I knew you’d love it.” Orlando was grinning wildly now, almost clapping with glee. “You should _see_ your fucking _face_ , man! Fantastic!”

“Shut it.” Dom blushed slightly. Getting this much of a hard on for a little cabinet of books was pretty much as un-rock star as you get, but Dom couldn’t help it. His heart was actually beating faster.

“Here.” Orlando handed him a book that was bit more tattered than the others—a first English edition of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. “Father had two of these. Sam and I saved for half a year to buy it for him for Christmas, not realizing he had his eye on one from the estate of the Earl of Glouster. Ours was a bit less classy, as you can see.”

Dom ran his fingers over the small crease in the spine. “It just means this one was loved. See the way the leather in the cover is discolored here? That’s from the oils in your fingers. It means someone loved this book enough to read it over and over.” As soon as he looked at Orlando’s face, he knew who that person was. “Orli…”

“I want you to have it.”

“Mate, I can’t…”

“Please, Dom. He never appreciated it. The day he got a better copy, he took this one out of the cabinet and put it on the shelf over there.” Dom could hear Orlando’s voice starting to crack. “The second he got one worth more money, this one meant nothing at all to him.”

Still holding onto the book, Dom pulled Orlando into a tight hug. “Thank you.” Dom couldn’t even imagine how alone his best friend must have felt in this house. The Monaghan’s didn’t have much, but the ugly ashtray Dom made for his father one year for Christmas still had a place of honor on the coffee table in the sitting room. The refrigerator was always covered with art from Sunday school projects and pictures of birthday parties. The Bloom’s kitchen was pristine—marble and chrome and porcelain. Cold. Orlando struggled for a second against Dom’s grip, but Dom wouldn’t let go. He waited for tears, but none came. Instead, Orlando just rested his forehead against Dom’s shoulder until his ragged breathing had returned to normal. Dom guessed that if Lord Harold Bloom had been his father, he wouldn’t waste any tears either.

Orlando eased back out of Dom’s arms and smiled at Dom’s look of concern. “I’m okay. I have something else for you.”

“Orli, you really don’t have to do this.”

But he watched Orlando open the drawer again and pull out a small metal box, placing it on the desk. “Father had no idea I knew about this. For a man in banking, he was sure wary of banks.” He picked up a small bronze bust of Winston Churchill and turned it over. “We have a safe, of course, but Father basically used it as a decoy.” Orlando twisted off the bottom and shook out a small silver key. He looked at Dom and winked. “The good stuff’s in here.” He opened the little box and Dom shook his head in amazement. It was filled with cash and jewels. Orlando took out the cash and began counting it out into piles. “I figure the bonds should go to Ma, and the jewelry to Sam. It all belonged to my grandmother. But the cash…” He finished counting and picked up a small stack of bills. Dom guessed it had to be close to 2000 quid. “This is for you.”

Dom gaped at him. “I’m good with the book, man. It’s worth plenty.”

Orlando laughed at him. “Yeah, but you’re never gonna sell it! Take the money.”

Dom was not a fucking charity. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Orli.”

“Take it you motherfucker. Just promise you won’t use it to buy anything that might land you in hospital again.”

“And how am I supposed to pay you back?”

“You’re not.”

“Orli—I don’t live my life in debt to other people. I won’t. Not even you.” Dom folded his arms across his chest. Orlando was still holding out the stack of bills, and they were starting to look very tempting.

“Fine. Consider it repayment for saving my life.”

“And when did I do that?”

Orlando’s reply was fierce. “We were seventeen and you told me I was a condescending prick and a son of a bitch and that I had no idea what I wanted out of life and that I should shut the fuck up and start _living_. And then you bought me a beer at McGuiney’s. You’re my best friend in the whole fucking world and I don’t deserve it and just please take the fucking money!”

“Fine!” Dom grabbed the stack of bills from Orlando’s outstretched hand and pulled him into another tight hug. “I’m not gonna spend it, though,” he mumbled into Orlando’s neck.

“Yes you are, you bastard.” His voice wavered a bit, but Dom could tell he was laughing. “No drugs, though. Promise. Not even a spliff.”

“Promise.”

“I need you, man.”

“You got me.” Dom held onto Orlando for dear life, wishing he could give something, _anything_ more. He felt like he’d spent the entire morning trying to make up for the last six months, and at the end of it he was still in Orlando’s debt. Orlando Bloom, this beautiful, fragile boy who had no business being in Dom’s life. He should have left years ago, found people who were better for him. But there is no shaking Orlando Bloom when he has his heart set on you. _Billy would do well to figure that out one of these days_ , he thought sardonically.

Dom didn’t let go until Sam came to fetch them for a trip into town.

*

“Hello?”

“Mags! Glad I caught you in, love.”

“Billy Boyd—three months without a word and you manage to catch me the one time all year I’m on holiday. Where are you? How’s New York?”

“Actually, I’m in Canterbury…”

Billy was fairly certain that the sound his sister made on the other end of the line could only be heard by dogs.

“What the _hell_ do you mean you’re in Canterbury!? What happened to New York? Last I heard—which was THREE MONTHS ago, let me repeat—you had just started recording your fucking album!”

“Margaret! Calm the fuck down!” Billy couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. Just hearing Maggie go crazy was making it feel like he was really home. “And watch your mouth, Miss Boyd. What kind of example are you setting for your kids?”

“I’ll have you know, I am sitting in a lovely teashop in Piccadilly, thank you, and you’re lucky I even had my cell on.”

“What the hell are you doing in Piccadilly?”

“Spring school holiday and I needed to get out of Glasgow for a bit. I’m staying with Tracy in the West End.” Billy twirled the phone cord through his fingers and imagined Maggie sitting there, wearing her patented ‘practical schoolmarm’ slacks and the scarf she loved that Gran had knitted her second year of University. Margaret had been University bound since birth and Billy hadn’t minded a bit. Billy’s life was music. Maggie’s was books. She and Dom had always gotten along famously. She now taught Literature at the private secondary school in the Glaswegian suburbs. The one Ma and Dad and Gran could never afford for her. “Now what the hell are you doing in Canterbury?”

“Orli’s Da died. Funeral’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry. How’s he holding up?” Margaret’s voice took on what Billy called her “saint tone”; he could _feel_ the empathy through the phone line. In any other person it would be an incredibly annoying trait, but Maggie had always managed to pull it off without sounding pretentious and affected. Billy’s chest tightened.

“He’s… I don’t know, really. He seems okay, but I can’t tell.”

“It’s Orlando. Of course you can tell.”

“Mags…” But it was the truth. Billy could always read Orlando, but only because Orlando made everything so clear. He never left anything hidden. Except Bean, of course. And the drugs, and god knows what else he’d been up to in New York while Billy had been wrapped up in his own head. So much of their futures—all of them—had been riding on Billy’s shoulders. He had been sick of playing dad.

But he still _saw_ it all. He watched Dom and Elijah slowly self-destruct. He watched Elijah grow thin and pale. He watched Dom spend more nights away from them all, and almost none of them sober. And Orlando. He knew something was wrong. He fucking _knew_ it. But he was so _tired_ , so _frustrated_ with his life, and the band, and New York, and _everything_ , that he let it go. Trusted them to deal with it all themselves. Pretended he was doing them all a favor by treating them like grownups.

But not like friends. Somewhere he forgot that, other than the person on the other end of his phone, these were the most important people in his life.

“Earth to William, come in, love.” Maggie’s tone was gentle and amused. “Did I lose you there?”

He could barely keep the lump out of his throat. God, he missed her.

“No, no—still here. Just. He’s not so good, actually.”

“Mmmm. Well, do you think I should come down? I still have a few days and I could rent a car.”

“No. Enjoy your holiday. We’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure? You suck at funerals, you know.”

Billy couldn’t help but smile. “Ta for that.”

“Well, you do. I can be there by teatime.” But Billy couldn’t let her use her vacation time for this funeral.

“I’ll be fine if you’re not here, Mags.”

“And by ‘fine’, I suppose you mean ‘devoid of emotion’? It’s okay to cry at funerals, you know.” Her voice was dry but still gentle. Almost no one talked to Billy like this, like he was breakable in some way. Billy never gave off any aura of weakness. Billy was pretty sure if anyone ever tried to talk to him like he was something that could be damaged, he’d be angry enough to make sure they never made that mistake again.

But Maggie knew him better than anyone.

“I wouldn’t cry at this one. Bloom was a right bastard. Orlando’s lucky he managed to escape when he did.” He sighed heavily. Talking to Margaret always made him just a tad too homesick. “Look, we’ll be fine. I better go. Sounds like the whole house is heading to town.”

“If you’re sure, Bills. Give Orli my love, alright?”

“Sure.”

“How long are you around for, anyway?”

Billy paused. He really had no idea. He was pretty sure his job would no longer be his when he got back to New York. There was an album to promote but no band to promote it at the moment. And that didn’t even cover the issue of their now-vacant apartment.

“Um. I’ll get back to you on that.” He managed a small laugh that he hoped didn’t sound too hysterical.

“Well, if you’re still here next week, I expect a visit. It’s been way to long since I’ve hugged my brother.”

“I’ll come if I can. I promise.” The tightness in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Billy had barely hung up the phone when Elijah burst in, grabbing his hand and dragging him down to the waiting towncar.

*

The ride to town was quiet but not uncomfortable. Dom sat up front with the driver, glancing in the side view mirror now and again. Orlando was pressed up against one window, his eyes unfocused like they were when he was lost in his own head. When Dom and Orlando had met years before, he’d had that look a lot. Dom wondered how often Orlando was getting lost these days and let out a small sigh.

Billy was pressed against the other window watching the scenery flow by, a small smile on his lips. Billy may have liked New York, but Dom could tell he felt more at home here than he had in months. Canterbury wasn’t Scotland, but at least people drove on the right side of the road. He smiled to himself. All they needed now was to pass a moor and Billy’s brogue would roughen up until he was unintelligible.

Elijah was wedged between them, his head on Orlando’s shoulder and his eyes closed. As Dom watched, Elijah reached his hand out blindly and found Orlando’s hand, squeezing lightly. Orlando blinked rapidly as his eyes refocused. Elijah always knew when they needed that, always knew when one of them was drifting too far and needed to be brought back. It was like a sixth sense. It was eerie and weird and entirely endearing. Which pretty much summed up Elijah, he thought with a grin.

But really, that didn’t come close. Elijah was… indescribable. Unconventional. In possession of the most perfect mouth on the planet.

A really good drummer.

Dom pulled his eyes away from the mirror and back to the road. Elijah was a really good drummer.

He had to stop thinking about Elijah like that. Elijah’s mouth should have no bearing on Dominic Monaghan, period.

Dom was fucked up enough on his own—no need to drag Elijah down with him.

The car stopped in front of a small row of shops. “I’ll be around to pick you up in two hours, Master Bloom. Your mother told me to remind you that the Reverend Marshall is coming for dessert tonight.” The driver smiled kindly at Orlando.

“Thanks, Daniel. We’ll be on time.”

Dom climbed out of the car and stretched his arms up over his head. “So what’s the plan, gentlemen? An afternoon of drunken debauchery?”

Orlando laughed lightly and tugged at the hem of his jacket. “I have to do some business for Mother—caterers and the like. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour. Why don’t I meet you all after? We’ll grab a pint.”

Billy’s brow furrowed just a notch; his ‘I don’t like this plan’ look. “We can go with you, man. No sense splitting up.”

Orlando smiled but Dom noticed it was more at the ground than at them. “Nah. Seems a waste of a nice day to drag you all with me. I won’t be long.” And with a wave he took off down a small side street. Dom sighed again quietly. Orlando still transparent as hell. Even after this morning, he was still trying to deal with this all alone. He made a mental note to talk to Billy about it later. What Orlando really needed right now was Billy.

Dom looked over at Elijah, who was wandering happily toward an old stone church. “You’d better catch him before he looks the wrong way and wonders out into traffic.” Before Billy had a chance to reply, Dom jogged off down the sidewalk. “I’ve got something to take care of—I’ll meet you here in an hour!”

He passed over a dozen small shops before he found what he was looking for. Walking into the store, Dom noticed the slightly hostile gaze of the man behind the counter and felt his back pocket for the wad of cash Orlando had given him. _He’ll shut up soon, the fucker_. He really wasn’t going to spend it, but this was important. Poetic, really.

After searching the aisles for what seemed like ages, Dom was about to give up when a flash of blue caught his eye. He checked the tag… _Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect._

“May I help you sir?” A young clerk stood behind Dom looking annoyed that Dom had interrupted his quiet afternoon. His eyes opened wide as Dom pulled out the stack of money.

“Yeah. I’ll take this one.”

 

 

~Fin  



End file.
